Welcome to My Home, Mr Turtle

My mom walks into the house, all excited, her eyes glowing at me. I sit up and ask, "What happened?"
"We're getting a pet turtle!"
"WHAT?!"
"A pet turtle!"
It turned out that one of her friends was going to India forever and didn't have provisions to take along the turtle which she'd had for over a year.
My reaction wasn't of joy or surprise, or even shock. It was just dismay.
So later that night, the turtle showed up in a plastic box in my dad's hands. My mom stared at it in wonder and joy, and I stared at her with the hope that she wouldn't go through with this, because the sight of the little thing made me sure of one thing I'd been afraid of all my life: I would never be able to keep a pet.
Not because of the responsibility it presented or because I was some sort of a nature freak and ran away if I caught an animal so much as blinking at me in interest. No. Because the sight of the little turtle, thrashing about in an unnatural (for it anyway) plastic box, gave me the creeps.
Imagine being shut away in a glass room for the rest of your life. You're just walking around, discovering your own life, an amateur at the art of surviving your natural surroundings. And suddenly you're scooped up in a net with your fellow, um, beings, and chucked into a glass room where everything around you is so obviously fake, and others outside your transparent haven are staring at you with googoo eyes, as if you are the best thing that ever happened to them. You'd just end up wondering, er, if you like me so much, why'd you put me here?
That summed up the thoughts that ran through my head as I peered at the little thing.
The chances of keeping the turtle reduced with my sister's reaction. It was a short, high squeal, and then she ran right up to me and started sobbing about how scared she was.(Hey, she's just seven..and yes, kind of a crybaby).
So after we put the little thing in a bigger box, and I convinced my sister that it would not crawl up our blankets in the middle of the night, we went to bed.
Everyone stayed up late in bed. My sister because she still wasn't entirely convinced, me because I couldn't stand the sound of the turtle splashing about in a small plastic box, my mom because she was excited, and my dad because he was concerned about whether or not we'd be able to take care of it. That night, given my sister's unreasonable, yet helpful fear, it seemed highly unlikely that we'd keep it.
Unfortunately, as the turtle did not climb into bed with us that night, my sister got over it and decided the next morning that she found it cute. I probably should've left it creeping on her leg or something.
And so, with my sister's permission (thanks a LOT, sis) the turtle became a permanent part of our home.
We got it this weekend, and it has already been christened Jolle (which stands for something like cute or something in some language), and everyone already wishes him good night.
I don't want to get attached. I can see what 'affection' can do us. We overlook the fact that those creatures don't need to be imprisoned to know that we 'adore' them.
So now the turtle sits in its glass tank, alone, probably lonely, but with three pairs of eyes surveying practically it's every movement. I prefer to look away.
I tell you, human beings are just evil.

Too close, too far

I was just reading up one of THOSE articles - where they tell you how to maintain a collapsing friendship or relationship. And one of the key points mentioned was: Maintain a comfortable distance. Don't smother them with closeness, don't be too distant for casual conversation.

That set me thinking (as always). What is a comfortable distance? Is there a measure, some particular quantity, or some sort of formula to calculate what exactly would be comfortable between people? Not really, no.
So then, how are you supposed to know if you're smothering someone? I know I've gotten really closed to some people in a surprisingly short amount of time. Would maintaing that closeness be suffocating? I have no idea. It isn't yet....but then people work in different ways.
So where does that leave me?
With a lot of questions, that's where.
 But then, surely you'd know. You'd know when a person thinks you're much too close to them, if they think they don't have enough space. If you don't get it, surely they'll tell you.
And besides....none of my Happy friendship hills is collapsing.

Note to Self: Stop reading articles by psychologists.

The Cat-and-Mouse Chase

I have to be incredibly jobless to write about this. I realise that, in some part of my brain. But then, that part of my brain was no part of the awe experienced by the rest of me as I watched Cartoon Network's Tom and Jerry today, after something like an eon...though it's probably been no more than eight years or so.

At some point eight years ago, that show which I had loved with all my heart became nothing but annoying background music as I got into 'older' stuff. (Background music because I got a little sister - whoo hoo - right about then). I mean, you can only watch the same stuff over and over again so many times once you're over the rolling-on-the-floor laughing stage. But today, I didn't laugh or even grin. I merely wondered how a little grey cat and an even smaller brown mouse - two of nature's extremely common creations - could survive getting run over, beaten the crap out of by a particularly monstrous bulldog, inhaled and sneezed out by a T-Rex, carried off by a pterodactyl (presumably for edible purposes), falling off the top floors of buildings, getting struck by lightning, and let's not forget the classic coming down a chimney and catching fire and collapsing into a pile of ashes, only to regenerate within a second, looking around comically bewildered.

That is a lot to wonder, I tell you.

The only conclusion I could arrive to was that well, it's only a cartoon show, and of course the whole world is crazy. Accepting that, the world stands explained.

Fighting Reality?!

Seriously, sometimes it's like that's what I'm doing 24x7.
I mean, I know I have absolutely no one to blame but myself...actually, I do have others to blame, and correctly so, but I'd rather not.
Anyway, if there's any reason that my life drives me absolutely CRAZY, and not in a nice, fun, Oh-I'm-loving-it way, but rather in a bad, annoying, ugh-what-should-I-do way, I am not aware of it.
And guess what? It doesn't matter, Reasons are only a means to pacify ourselves, not an actual solution to the problem. At least, in this case.
I know what the problem is, but that doesn't take me any closer to solving it.
I was always your typical dreamer - I always had my head in the clouds, quite literally. There was another world altogether, based on reality, but still far from it, that I had constructed in my head. I can safely say that I spent way more time there, because it was easier. It was perfect according to me. I won't list the details here, but just to make it clear, I was not Princess Diana or anything in that world. I was still me, but my world was very, very different.
And lucky for me, I was one of those people who can choose what to believe.
No, I'm not a schizophrenic. I knew what reality was, I just didn't choose to believe it.
But the day had to come.
My dazzling dreamworld came shattering down around me...I won't say why, but it did.
And now, having to actually cope with reality...not fun at all. Because in reality, I can't mould everything the way I want it. I guess that just goes to show that somewhere inside me lives a control freak.
Or maybe not. I don't know.
But I do know that if try to step back into my fantasy world, it won't work. It will be like a broken crystal vase: I may be able to put together the pieces but I won't be able to hold them that way forever.
So now, it's time to return to the abnormally normal thing called life, only this time, I won't have my dreams to save me. Give me hope, maybe, but not save me.

Rambling...

It's my way of making a fresh start.
I realised, when I was sitting and chewing on chocolate chip cookies and staring at absolutely nothing, that I ought to have paid more attention, given more importance to this blog that I created at half-past one in the morning, with my mom yelling her head off about how I should be more responsible and put my computer away on time...but that's an entirely different story. So my point is, if I initiated it, I should go on with it.
So I deleted all the entries I'd made before (believe me, it wasn't fun deleting stuff I'd written, but then those entries weren't much to br proud of either) and decided to start anew.
Of course, with my current state of activity (which is absolute inactivity), I had to get past all the points of boredom that ever existed to come back to what I'd deemed a lost cause. So I stared at Rihanna dancing in leopard-print pants on TV, downloaded all the songs ever released by Evanescence and, as a last straw, watched Eclipse (retch, retch)...and then decided to give my own blogging skills another try.
Now as for Eclipse, even though by saying this I'm making myself a target of eggs, tomatoes and whatever else the alleged Twihards can dig out of their refrigerators (though that is just a waste; ever heard of food scarcity?), my God, they killed the book. They might as well have picked up a copy of it and very symbolically ripped it, cover to cover, before throwing that butane lighter on to it.
The story is, of course THE most predictable thing on earth, but there is a certain magic about Meyer's storytelling that hooked millions worldwide. The addictive element that she adds has been missing in the movies from the beginning   (I would know, having watched them all, though I swore to myself I wouldn't...guess I couldn't help hoping) but as the sequels sprang up, the lack became more and more conspicuous. And as for all the Lautner-crazy women out there (yes, you!) I can't empathise with your adoration for this fellow, who may be really great in the gym, but didn't really show off much but the abs onscreen. (I'm going to sleep with a pick under my covers tonight).
But of course, the people hell-bent on saving the crumbling pedestal of this series....they loved it.
Thank goodness addiction doesn't affect my judgment.